Research

Shelf Life

~ Paula Harmon ~ 1 Comment

The other day when I needed rice wine vinegar for a recipe, I discovered the use by date of ours had expired seven years ago. For the record, we probably hadn’t used it 2018, but it did prove that we need a cupboard audit.

No one has ever accused me of being a tidy person, but I try to be organised in the kitchen. Unfortunately I’m constantly undermined by my husband who thinks it’s a waste of time and thinks the fact that I have the spices in the spice cupboard in alphabetical order hysterical. There’s a sort of running battle because he puts things where he sees a space and then of course the chief chef (e.g. me) can’t find them and remonstrates and he rolls his eyes etc etc etc.

Use by/Best Before dates of course are somewhat new. Our parents and grandparents used their noses and brains. Admittedly, until forty years ago, the variety of things we take for granted weren’t as easily available (or a desire to cook several different cuisines), and my grandmothers having endured ten years of the Depression followed by thirteen or so years of rationing, were both very frugal. and unlikely to buy things they weren’t going to use.

They both cooked good plain British cooking (yes it’s a thing) with fresh ingredients. One grandmother also made macaroni dishes and the other also made curry. One baked her own bread. The other made the thinnest ever crêpes suzettes.

In contrast, I store ingredients for recipes from Jamaica to Malaysia, from France to South Africa, often bought on a whim. Periodically I realise a ‘best before’ is rapidly approaching and adjust what I was planning to cook accordingly.

There are things in the cupboard whose dates we’d never check: treacle, golden syrup and marmite. It’s hard to see how any of them could go off, and I suspect the treacle may outlast me.

On the other hand, there’s a tin of Confit de Canard which my husband bought in France in 1993 which was put in a cupboard when we got home and subsequently forgotten. The use by date was 2001 and we’ve moved twice since then, bringing the tin with us because we feel guilty about throwing it away. My husband swears it’ll still be fine. He’s probably right, but I’m not taking the risk and said he can eat it on his own and if necessary clear up afterwards. So far, he hasn’t tried to prove his own theory.

So it’s obvious that things on kitchen and fridges shelves have a life span. Is the same true of things on other shelves?

Books for example.

For irrelevant reasons, I recently tidied the bookshelves in my daughter’s room. It includes the books she left behind when she moved away, plus a few she adds when she comes to visit. It covers her reading life from age ten to nowadays plus art books, Spanish dictionaries and the Modern History textbooks she never returned to school.

I extracted the latter to sneak back somehow, noting with depression that (a) her Modern History course ended with the 1980s Cold War when I was a teenager doing a Modern History course which ended with the 1950s Korean War and (b) it’s all repeating itself. Again.

Then I put her novels in alphabetical order by author. This resulted in a bit of a bonkers mix. Monica Ali’s adult novel ‘Brick Lane’ nestles against Frank Cottrell Boyce’s middle grade novel ‘Cosmic’ which nestles against Malorie Blackman’s young adult novel ‘Checkmate’ etc.

A collage of bits of my own bookcases are below. I know that I’m fortunate to have all these books and the space to have them by the way, but that aside, if you can’t abide things out of order, you may need to brace yourself before looking closely.

Different shelves are supposed to have different functions: research, general novels, the ‘I have a literature degree honest’ shelf, general non-fiction books, and of course cookbooks. But not everything is where it should be. I like to think that part of the reason for that is because books like to wander about when I’m not looking, but I have to admit, most of it is just me being lazy.

Some of the books are new, some second-hand, some from my childhood, some gifted at various times in adult life. Some were once my father’s, some once belonged to his aunt. I think the oldest book is from the 1850s (a volume of recipes) and possibly after that an 1890s children’s book which was my great aunt’s. Some books are other people’s – borrowed, lent or left behind by one of my children or their partners until they have space for them.

Hard as it is to believe (and please don’t tell the ghost of my father if you meet him in a second-hand bookstore), I do periodically reduce my collection, but it’s never an easy task. With the exception of ‘Jude the Obscure’ and ‘The Noodle Maker’ both of which I was more than happy to get rid of, I feel like I’m giving away a kitten for adoption when I donate books to charity shops etc, hoping desperately that each will be cared for properly in its new home.

In ‘The Unpleasantness at the Belloma Club’ by Dorothy L Sayers, Lord Peter Wimsey describes books as lobster shells. His theory is that as you grow and change, you’ll discard them and replace them with something else.

For me, I think that’s true of the art I’d display, but it’s not for books I own.

There are perhaps some I’ll never read again, but I keep them because they hold memories. These were read to me by my father. That was once on my grandmother’s (very tidy) bookshelf with the blue glass jar of humbugs on top. And these, like songs on the radio, recall a point in time and just looking at them will bring memories and emotions back.

Like my daughter, I’ve kept books from childhood which I periodically read and enjoy every bit as much as I ever did.

So no, I don’t agree with Lord Peter Wimsey on this occasion.

Maybe rice wine vinegar and Confit de Canard have a shelf life.

But for me at least, books don’t.

What do you think?

Words and image copyright (c) Paula Harmon 2025. These are not to be used without the author’s express permission including for the purposes of training artificial intelligence (generative AI).

Triggers – to Warn or not to Warn – Views Welcome

~ Paula Harmon ~ 5 Comments

Trigger warnings in books, films and TV are contentious.

I’m often irritated when I’m watching TV after 9.30pm and a sombre announcement warns me about what might offend or upset me in the programme I’m about to watch. I’ve usually enough knowledge of what I’m about to see to anticipate it, and if I didn’t want to watch, I wouldn’t. (And often don’t even if the drama is going to be excellent.) Other times, if I wasn’t aware there might be a particular scene, I’m glad of the warning beforehand so I can make a choice about whether I watch.

I admit I don’t think I’ve ever seen a trigger warning a book. However, I have a question for you.

But here’s a quick trigger warning about this blog post if you want one before you read down and find out what I’m asking: it refers to human trafficking, slavery and obliquely to prostitution.

The image below may look fun, but it very much isn’t. It’s from a larger image that was printed in the Illustrated Police News on Saturday 17 June 1899 with the description: ‘Alleged Immoral Traffic in Chinese Girls – they are packed in crates and treated as freight on the railways’. The article (on page 3) says ‘An investigation has been ordered into the recent revelations regarding the sale and shipment of Chinese girls, a practice which, it is alleged, has been customary for months. The climax was reached a week ago, when two girls, aged fifteen and sixteen years respectively, were bought at Vancouver. It is asserted they were placed in a crate and shipped as freight over the railway, the train hands giving them food and water. The car containing them was placed on a side track one night, and the girls, being each clad only in a wrapper, caught cold. The man who purchased one of them demanded damages from the railway company for the injury thus done to his property. The girls, it is alleged, were sold for immoral purposes.’

This small picture is in the corner of a larger one depicting what looks like a rough (presumably Canadian) bar with two (possibly supposed to be Chinese) girls in low cut mid-calf dresses, sitting on the laps of two bearded men, watched by a crowd of other men.

If you saw the larger image without context, you might be reminded of an archetypal scene from a Western where everyone – including the girls – is having great fun in a saloon, in contrast perhaps to the stuffy citizens of a frontier town.

However, when you include the other image and what it’s describing (and a cockroach of a man who’d purchased two girls and had the face to publicly sue the railway company for their damage because he might not be able to profit from what damage he did to them afterwards) you might wonder how many if any of the girls in that bar/saloon (or any equivalent) chose to be there and were happy with what they had to do. Some did/do choose that job not simply out of desperation, but because they want to and they keep their own earnings. But many, many didn’t and still don’t.

There’s a prevailing view that refined Victorian and Edwardian women would faint if any reference to sex came into their hearing. Maybe it was true for some, but evidence suggests that there were plenty for whom it wasn’t.

In the UK at least, women fighting for suffrage in the 1800s did not simply want the vote. They also wanted better treatment for women and girls – not just in terms of educational opportunities but also their personal, moral and mental safety. And they weren’t afraid to tackle the subject head on.

Josephine Butler for example, had long campaigned for the raising of the age of consent to be raised from thirteen to sixteen. Why this was such a battle is mind boggling, but eventually, working with journalist W.T. Stead and Bramwell Booth of the Salvation Army, she was involved in the infamous Eliza Armstrong case. They proved to a horrified Victorian general public how easy it was to buy a child for immoral purposes, conspiring to purchase a thirteen-year-old girl for £5 (six months salary for a maid) from her mother who provided proof of her purity plus some chloroform to drug her, knowing that she would be destined for a brothel on mainland Europe. Instead, Eliza was rescued and subsequently had a safe and good life. W.T. Stead was, believe it or not, subsequently prosecuted for abducting a child from her parents, despite what they’d been happy to do to their own daughter. But ultimately, the case raised awareness of what was happening, and the age of consent in England and Wales being raised to sixteen in 1885.

By the 1910s when ‘The Suffragette’ was also campaigning about what they called ‘the traffic in humans’, the international White Slave Traffic Act (also called the Mann Act) had some into force, as had the International Agreement for the suppression of the White Slave Traffic (also known as the White Slave convention). Legislation was also introduced in the UK to allow for any procurer to be publically flogged if convicted, though whether any were I’m not sure. There were certainly plenty of procurers, some more sophisticated than others, from strangers posting apparently innocent advertisements for legitimate jobs, through mothers of young girls making money out of their innocence, to coercive husbands/boyfriends who just had one little job for them to do ‘if you really love me’.

‘The Suffragette’ and other papers however, were willing to point out that although the term ‘White Slave’ had been coined in the mid 1800s to refer to trafficked people of European descent where the perpetrators weren’t of European descent, by the early 20th Century there was a recognition that the race of the victim was irrelevant to perpetrators who were more likely than not to be white, and simply wanted to make money.

It was also recognised that victims weren’t only forced into ‘immorality’ but into illegally run factories, mines, farms etc etc; often abducted and/or imprisoned, sometimes a long way from home. The good old days huh?

So what about my question? The fifth Margaret Demeray book ‘A Justified Death‘ is coming out in the Autumn.

It’s November 1913 and while Margaret’s personal life involves being under pressure to work more days at the hospital and wrangling her unpredictable elderly father, the political world around her is still edging towards war. Britain and Germany are having a ‘my torpedo/canal/warship/zeppelin is bigger than yours’ contest under the guise of friendly demos. The ‘Irish Question’ is bigger news for once than suffragette militancy, with the leader of the Conservative Party, Andrew Bonar Law, hinting at major trouble from Unionists if the Home Rule Bill goes through.

But as I said in How What When – it’s not just politics which affect my characters. In ‘A Justified Death’, a young girl runs out into a foggy street and is knocked down more or less in front of Margaret. Before long, Margaret suspects that the girl was not only running from traffickers but is afraid her friend will get caught up in the same ruse. As Margaret and Fox try to find the girl’s friend and close down the operation, they start to wonder if everything is as depressingly simple as it looks or is something else going on too.

So here’s my question, assuming you’ve got this far. If you were considering buying this book, would you want a trigger warning?

Within the book there is reference to trafficking, but there is NO description of what physically happens to anyone trafficked, it is only hinted at and suggested. I don’t want the book to be gratuitous, or (heaven forbid in context) titillate, but I’m quite happy if it makes the reader angry on behalf of the characters.

The book is not just about trafficking of course, as I say, Margaret’s got a whole lot of other things going on as usual, and it’s not all dark and dreary either. The twins are getting more mischievous, her nephew may be suffering from first love, and Margaret’s father has found another bookshop to get lost in.

But I’m conscious that from a book description which refers to procures and trafficking, potential readers may be worried they’ll get more than they bargained for.

Some authors deal with this by including a statement to say: ‘Trigger Warning; please be aware that this book includes…’ Others have a link to a place on their website which readers can access if they’re at all concerned. Others put nothing and assume that the potential reader should guess what the book is likely to include by the description.

If you’re in favour of trigger warnings, what sort of things do you want warnings about? And how do you think I should approach it in this instance?

If you’re against, why?

I’d love to know.

(NB: Sadly human trafficking is still alive and well and often invisible – cheap clothes, cheap food, cheap goods, cheap services – they’re often cheap for one reason only. Please find some websites about modern slavery/human trafficking – how to recognise it, how to help, how to find help below.)

Words copyright 2024 by Paula Harmon. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission. Image courtesy of the British Newspaper Archive and taken from page six of Illustrated Police News – Saturday 17 June 1899.

The Human Trafficking Foundation Support Services

Hope For Justice – Bringing Freedom from Modern Slavery

The United Nations: What we do to stop Human Trafficking

How, What, When – Techniques

~ Paula Harmon ~ Leave a comment

I’m often asked four things:

1.     How long does it take to write a book?

2.     How do Liz and I co-write without killing each other?

3.     Re historical mysteries, does research come before plot or vice versa?

4.     When do I find time to write?

The simple answers are:

1.     The first draft of a 50,000 word book written with Liz is usually completed within a month. The first draft of a 90,000 book I write alone takes at least three months.

2.     We co-write without killing each other partly because we live too far apart to pop round and have a scrap.

3.     Historical accuracy is essential but ultimately it’s the character’s personal battles (and perhaps interaction with real events) which drives the plot.

4.     Theoretically between 9am and 2pm on days when I’m not doing the day job.

In more detail:

Liz and I are developing an online session on co-writing for the near future, so please keep an eye on the Hints, Tips and Masterclasses tab on this website to see when this will be available. But what I can share here is that one of the reasons why it’s quicker for me and Liz to write quickly is that we plot the books in minute detail in advance – a process more natural to Liz than I – and diarise a specific window of time to write in.

My own books are typically longer and I don’t plot in as much detail. I am not a pantster (someone who just starts with an idea and no idea of where they’re going till they get there). I know the character’s challenges, the main plot points, the middle and the end. I usually plot tightly up to the mid-point after which it’s a lot more vague. I aim to write at least one chapter a day, five days a week if I can. This theoretically takes seven weeks, but sometimes longer. While detailed plotting for co-writing makes my teeth itch, not being 100% sure what’s happening between chapter twenty and thirty-seven of my own books keeps me awake at night – I’m not joking. I almost always end up with a first draft that’s 40,000 words longer than it should be, so I have to revise the whole shebang, often moving or ditching whole segments. Sometimes those ditched segments (often ones I most enjoyed writing) get reused. Occasionally they are gone for good. Eventually it’s ready for the editor after which I will have more revisions. End to end, the whole thing (with various breaks) can take the best part of nine months.

Do I think one technique is better than another? No. What works well for me and Liz together, doesn’t work for me alone. I’ve tried it but still go off at a tangent. Maybe one day. I actually enjoy the revision more than the first draft. It’s where I start to ‘find’ the story.

As regards historical research: the historical context may be a backdrop or a major factor depending on the book. So for example, The Case of the Black Tulips is set in a world in which Katherine has a job meaning she travels alone, and Connie is sent out without an escort, meaning they meet each other and start investigating against a general backdrop of late Victorian fog, hansom cabs, music halls etc etc. The Treacherous Dead and Dying to be Heard on the other hand, are set against real events that occurred in 1912 and 1913 (and also 1900). It’s Margaret’s reaction to them which drives the plot.

Caster & Fleet are in 1890s London when opportunities for young women were expanding and when improvements in communications, transport and education were changing the world rapidly. We made use of that, but we didn’t tie anything to any specific historical event therefore what they’re dealing with is more important than who’s Prime Minister etc.

Likewise the Murder Britannica series is set in the late second century Britannia. There are a lot of political shenanigans going on and the emperor is, frankly, insane, but Rome is a long way off. Lucretia and Tryssa feel broadly safe straddling Roman and Celtic life, going with the flow to keep on the right side of the invaders but otherwise more interested in what’s happening right in front of them as it’s more ‘real’ to them than a distant emperor who thinks he’s Hercules.

The Margaret books are slightly different, because the backdrop is an essential part of the plot. Six books will cover the period June 1910 to August 1914. Threading through are: the build up to World War One; anarchist and revolutionaries; people arrested for spying in Britain and Germany; the fight for Irish independence; conflict in the Balkans; industrial unrest; the drive of the labour movement calling for safer working practices; increasingly militant suffragette activity.

I research real newspapers of the day to see what Margaret might be faced with every morning in terms of current affairs. The likelihood is that she’d read about suffragette activity and ‘the Irish question’ on the front page, but have to turn into the depths of the paper for anything on spying and war-mongering manoeuvres in mainland Europe. Was this deliberate on the part of the media – keeping people worried about the things the status quo wanted them to worry about and oblivious to other things that might ultimately be more problematic? Mmm.

But like most of us, Margaret is no different to Katherine aand Connie or Lucretia and Tryssa, and current affairs are not at the top of her things to worry about.  More often than not, she’s concerned about being a good wife/mother/sister/daughter/friend/pathologist (not necessarily in that order), wondering about bills and deciding what’s for dinner.

Which reminds me: should I wake my husband up from his Sunday afternoon sleep since it’s his turn to cook, or turn the oven on myself? Is the washing dry? Who’s visiting this week and what shall we eat?

Which leads me to the real answer to question four: how do I have time to write? Sometimes I have no idea!

Words (c) 2024 copyright Paula Harmon. Not to be reproduced or used without the author’s express permission. Image credit: Illustration 164663778 © Rassco | Dreamstime.com

Yes But How Much Is True?

~ Paula Harmon ~ 2 Comments

The other evening my husband went out cycling. Yes, it’s November. Yes it was dark. But he and his friends do this weekly after work whenever they can. At nine-thirty, it started to pour with rain as forecast. At ten p.m., just as he returned, the whole town had a power cut.

I heard with relief (since he’s the only one of the cycling group who hasn’t broken a bone on one of these jaunts) the screech of our garage door and went to look out for him, shining my phone torch into the rainy darkness.

My drenched husband said it was like being guided into the house by Florence Nightingale.

My nursing skills boil down to ‘here’s a kiss and an aspirin and/or a plaster and/or a blanket and/or soup and I’m sure you’re fine really’, so this was the first time I’ve been likened to any medical professional let alone a nursing heroine, and got me thinking.

Did Florence Nightingale really did carry a lamp? Or was this a myth long since debunked along with Napoleon being short and Marie Antoinette saying ‘Let them eat cake’? (He wasn’t and she didn’t, and for other historical myths click here.)

At a talk a while ago I was asked if I was ever tempted to write a novel based on a real character. So far my answer is no.

The first reason why I haven’t is that doing so is complex and can be controversial.

With real historical people a novel can only capture the elements of their life that the author wants to focus on, and since real lives don’t follow a story arc, or narrative pattern, real events might have to be moved about or omitted. Then readers complain about inaccuracy or bias.

Going back to Florence, yes she did have a lamp, but surely the nurses working for her in that Crimean hospital carried them too? Yet the image of the Lady with the Lamp popularised by the Times, and Longfellow’s poem ‘Santa Filomena’ turned Florence Nightingale into a celebrity. In the 1970s, I was taught that she was the only pioneering nurse in the Crimean War. But in the 2010s, my children were taught about Jamaican born Mary Seacole who was also there nursing injured soldiers, but without government support or newspaper fame presumably because of views on her race (which may have been a factor in my not learning about her sooner too).

And while Florence radically transformed nursing and reformed the running of hospitals, she was also a firm believer in the right of British Empire colonisers to interfere with the culture of the native people, because Western beliefs and customs were superior and ‘correct’.

Anyone novelising her life would have to include this. Yet there would still be those readers who’d say the focus of a novel should only be on the positive, and anything negative should be brushed under the carpet on the grounds that Florence ‘was a product of her generation’. She was, of course, but there were people of her own race/nationality in the same generation who thought it was wrong, and the native peoples suffering were also of her generation. Do they not deserve a voice? Whatever interpretation you put on it, leaving negative things out surely means the fictionalisation doesn’t reflect the real person at all.

My second reason is that I like to use my imagination.

All my historical books are set in a real historical setting. The Margaret Demeray series also includes or refers to real events and people. ‘Death In The Last Reel’ includes the Siege of Sidney Street and Winston Churchill (film footage here); ‘The Treacherous Dead’ refers back to the Boer War, Emily Hobhouse and ‘Breaker’ Morant. The forthcoming ‘Dying To be Heard’ has my (fictional) characters witnessing the real actions of militant suffragette Emily Davison at the 1913 Epsom Derby (film footage here)

But I like to dig about in the British Newspaper Archives for less well-known things to provide a flavour of the times, because the third reason I prefer to create fictional characters is that I want to imagine ordinary people like my ancestors and perhaps yours, put them in extraordinary situations and see what happens next.

The rich and famous have plenty of books and films written about them. Let’s see what an ordinary person might do.

In 1913, the newspapers headlines were mostly about suffragette militancy and the Balkan crisis. But there was frivolous celebrity news including the Royal Wedding of a German princess – the last time European monarchs met in peace, and before many monarchies disappeared forever. (Not that anyone knew that then.) I also found reference to a moving picture ‘comedy’ about hot-headed suffragettes in which one (played by an actor in drag) was ‘hilariously’ force-fed champagne; a German dentist in Portsmouth who turned out to be a spy (both getting a brief mention in ‘Dying To Be Heard’into the book); and something I’m keeping back for book five.

I discovered advertisements for a folding baby car (pushchair/stroller) priced five shillings and a vacuum cleaner priced forty-two shillings. (In context, a housemaid might earn twenty shillings per week.)

This is what gets my imagination going. Were ordinary people worried about suffragette attacks? Or irritated? Did they lap up the celebrity news and discuss what the rich ladies wore to the wedding?

The German dentist spy was captured in a sting operation and sentenced to five years’ hard labour. But what happened to him when World War One broke out? And what happened to the man who informed on him (who was also German but loyal to Britain)?

What does a maid wielding a vacuum cleaner that’s worth two to four weeks of her wages think of something that might put her out of a job?

How does a woman in the medical profession who desperately wants the vote feel about a suffragette bombing campaign that might kill someone?

And finally – what happened to the person who thought a vacuum cleaner was a perfect Christmas gift in 1912? I know what would happen to anyone who gave me one now…

Words copyright (c) 2023 Paula Harmon. Not to be used without the author’s specific consent. Advert for baby car from Daily Citizen (Manchester) 26th April 1913 and advert for vacuum cleaner from Illustrated London News 30th November 1912.